The Fifth Age
by Glorfindel's Girl
Summary: This one's based on the BOOKS *not* the movie. If you haven't read them...you're really not going to get what's going on. Some basic knowledge of the Silmarillion and Tolkien's life helps too. We awaken once more...the re-emergence has begun.
1. Perhaps Not a Legend

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 1: Perhaps Not a Legend**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Middle Earth or anyone in it. The Tolkien Estate does. I, however, own all characters in here that aren't Tolkien's. Use them if you want, just give me credit for creating them. Chris, Sarah, Adrienne, and several other people in here like to think that they own themselves. If you want to use them in a story, you'll have to take it up with them. The Hideous Orange Blanket is mine. You cannot use it. Period. ^_^ 

**Author's Note: **Gentle Readers: the story that follows is one written for sheer grins. Meaning that it is a combination personal fantasy (c'mon…everyone's entitled to one!), stress relief, creative outlet, and great practice in making up a story as I go along. I mean, really. One does get tired of trying to pound out intricate, well-written Silmarillion based fanfiction. And I figured that since I've been writing this monster, I might as well start posting it. Hopefully, it will prove to be mildly **entertaining**, or at least provide a closer and amusing look into my **insane personal life**. If nothing else, you'll get to experience the kind of stuff I think about on a daily basis. But mostly during my 8:00 AM American History class when I'm still half awake and consequently drawing bizarre connections between the **Declaration of Independence and the Curse of Mandos. The end result here is a story that is at the same time pretty serious and well-written, but also at times rather silly. **But no matter what the mood – serious or fall-down funny – I guarantee you'll have a good time. ** Feel free to drop me a review or a flame (which I will promptly laugh at, print out, and give to Adrienne to line Skittles' – the hyperactive radioactive green parrot's - cage with) or whatever. Enjoy!**

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_Great Haywood, _Staffordshire__, ___England.  __Early May of 1916_

"Edith, I'm so sure of it.  If only I could prove it…it could completely shift the way…"

"Ronald," the young woman replied firmly, "If only I could prove it, I could say that pigs once had wings, or that the sky is green!"  She smiled at her husband's somewhat annoyed expression.  "I love you, but quite honestly, you're crazy."

Ronald shook his head as he took his pipe from the side table and filled it with tobacco.  He lit it, and puffed thoughtfully for a moment, sinking back against the cushioned back of his chair.  "Still," he said after a long moment, "You have to admit the similarities between the mythologies…in cultures separated by time and distance.  What if…just _what if _there was more to it than myth?  If I could only conclusively tie it together somehow…"

Edith pushed her long, raven-dark hair over her shoulder.  "Personally?  I believe that you've spent entirely too much time at Oxford.  Too much studying.  It's a wonderful theory, but without proof, it's really not much," she replied with a gentle smile.  "And you really can't expect proof to just fall out of the sky."

There was a soft rap on the door, and the young couple looked up to find Edith's cousin, Jennie standing in the doorway.  "There's someone to see you, John," she said, addressing Ronald.  She was the only person in the household who addressed Ronald by his first name.  "Some professor or other.  Says they've got something very urgent for you."

"Well by all means show him in!" Ronald exclaimed, putting his pipe out and standing up.  Edith stood as well, straightening her skirt and attempting to arrange her hair.

"Perhaps they decided to accept your poem after all, Ronald!" she whispered excitedly.  But it was not an antiquated scholar, bent by long years of studying that Jennie showed into the room, but a tall young woman, appearing to be no older than Edith.  She wore a hand-tailored grey jacket over her mid-length skirt and blouse, and a pair of simple flats.  Her gleaming dark hair was pinned in a heavy coil atop her head, and she had absolutely the most shocking eyes Ronald had ever seen.  A bright, intense green-grey.  She was carrying an old briefcase in one hand.

"John Tolkien, I presume?" she asked with a smile, extending her hand to Ronald.  She had a soft accent, which Ronald could not quite place.  He nodded as he shook her hand.

"Yes, I am," he replied.

"And you must be Ms. Edith Tolkien," the young woman said, turning her gaze to Ronald's wife.

"Yes," Edith replied.  "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss…."

"Cervantes," the woman replied.  "Kathleen Cervantes.  I am from the literature department at Princeton University in the United States.  Please, call me Kathleen."

"Please, have a seat," Ronald said.  "What may I do for you, Ms. Kathleen?"

"I believe I may have something of interest to you," she replied, setting her briefcase on her lap.  "You are currently working on a project attempting to link several different mythologies to one common, 'lost', if I may call it, mythology.  Furthermore, you believe that this common mythology is in fact not a mythology, but a missing chapter from history, am I correct?"

Ronald stared at her in shock.  "How do you know this?" he asked, sinking down into a chair.  Edith put her hand on his shoulder.  Kathleen just smiled.  A gentle smile, not a threatening one.

"I have connections.  But as I was saying, I believe I have something that would interest you."  With this, she opened her briefcase and removed four large, time worn, and battered books.  Two were covered in black leather, one appeared to have been green at one time, and the fourth was bound in red leather.  Kathleen set the briefcase aside, and handed the books to Ronald.

"_The Red Book of Westmarch" he read, opening the red book to the first page.  He thumbed gently through the book, handling the time-worn pages with care and reverence.  He set it aside, and did the same to the other three volumes.  When he was finished, he looked up at Kathleen with amazement.  _

"Where did you find these?" he asked.

"They were donated to the head of our literature department as 'articles of curiosity' by one of our European benefactors.  The copy of the Red Book is the oldest of the four, though the text of the other three is believed to pre-date the Old Testament.  These four books are translations completed in the mid 13th century," Kathleen replied.  She reached into her briefcase once more and removed several loose sheets of parchment paper covered with curious writings.  "These are a sample of pages from the original, un-translated work.  Our scholars were unable to identify the language system."

Ronald took the pages from her grasp gently and surveyed them for a moment.  "Why are you doing this?" he asked finally, setting the papers aside with a sigh.  "What is the catch?"

"No catch," Kathleen replied, shutting her briefcase.  "Just call it a professional curiosity, if you will.  I want to see what you can do with these books.  Very amusing for me, very good for you, and profitable too, very likely," she said with a strangely mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

"Now," she began again, standing, "It has been a pleasure speaking with you, but I really must be going."  She glanced up at a handsome clock perched on the mantle.  "I am afraid that I've a train to catch in less than a quarter of an hour."  

Ronald stood, and shook the young woman's hand, still in a state of shock.  Kathleen then smiled and nodded at Edith, who returned the gesture, and walked briskly out of the room, escorted by Jennie.

"Ronald," Edith began, kneeling down beside her husband's chair.  Ronald waved a hand in the air to quiet her as he opened one of the books covered in black leather.

"There is no Kathleen Cervantes in the literature department at Princeton University," he said softly.

"What?  Then who was she?" Edith asked.

"I don't know.  I would almost think that this is some sort of elaborate prank.  If it is, I must commend the proprietor of it, because they have far exceeded my skills in practical jokes.  And yet…something tells me that this is very, very real."

"What does it say?" Edith asked, sitting down at Ronald's feet like a child.  He turned a few pages in the book, then began to read, his voice rich and melodious.

"The Tale of Beren, son of Barahair, and Lúthien, called Tinúviel."

"Read it to me," Edith replied, laying her head against the arm of the chair.  Ronald laid his hand upon her head, then settled back for an afternoon of story-telling.

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**Endnotes: **Well…did you figure out who Ronald was before I told you? ^_^ This chapter is actually, of all things, historically accurate (well, except for the whole book thing, of course). After J.R.R. Tolkien and Edith Bratt were married, they resided in Great Haywood, Staffordshire, England with Edith's elder cousin, Jennie, for a short period until June of 1916 when Tolkien was recalled to the military. It was shortly after his recall into the military that he began work on his first written drafts of what would later become the Silmarillion. Also, very few people called Tolkien by his first name, John. His family and wife almost without exception addressed him by his middle name, Ronald. There is also a reason I felt it necessary that the story he read to Edith was that of Beren and Luthien. Tolkien, in real life, based the characters of Beren and Luthien upon himself and Edith, seeing their tale as somewhat of a metaphor of their own love. And thirdly, I dropped a great allusion to _The Hobbit_ in this chapter. Did you find it (no, it's not the Red Book)? 


	2. Sauron

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 2: Sauron**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, Tolkien's.  Not making any money.  So there.

_The Early Part of the 21st Century_…

For countless thousands of years I have been waiting and watching – preparing for the precise moment when I can once more reclaim power over all.  To the Edain, I have become nothing more than a faded memory of dark times, a shadow in the backs of their minds.  Even the Quendi have grown careless, believing me to be vanquished, a wisp of smoke scattered by the wind.  But they should remember.  Where there is smoke, there is always fire.   Even if it be no more than a spark waiting for the right moment to ignite into a raging blaze.  For now I have felt my strength returning.

I watched as a single man organized the mass murder of over ten million people.  And I grew stronger.  I watched men kill themselves and nearly three thousand innocents – all in the name of religion.  And I grew stronger.  A woman smiled as she drowned her five children, then calmly called the police.  Out of vengeance against a former lover, a man murdered his young daughters, while his former wife listened, unable to help her children as they screamed for help.  From it all, I gathered my strength.

Soon, very soon now, I will be strong enough to take form again.  And when I do, I shall return to the Edain all the suffering and pain which they have fed me upon for all these thousand years. 

I will never again be forgotten…


	3. And So It Begins

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 3: And So It Begins**

**Disclaimer:  **Honestly, now, I said it in the previous chapters.  Need I repeat myself?  

**Warnings:**  Liberal use of the English language invoked here in this chapter.  Translation: That rating didn't suddenly dip down to 'R' for nothing.  Cover your eyes, kiddies, there's going to be some bad language.  

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_Somewhere in the United Kingdom……_

****

"Can we move any fucking slower?!?" Tamara Peterson shouted to her camera crew, her voice echoing throughout the cavern.  One of her cameramen paused long enough to hitch up his pants and shoot her the finger before continuing setting up the video camera.  "Love you too, sweetheart," Tamara yelled, her voice practically dripping with sarcasm.  "Get the goddamned camera set up."  

It had taken her ten years to come this far.  Ten years of putting up with small time local news stations – ten years of fucking every station manager and network president who came her way in hopes of getting promoted.  From the very beginning she was determined to make it big, and was willing to do whatever it took.  Finally, her work had paid off when CNN hired her for an on-site reporter in the UK.  In her mind, it was only a matter of time before she had her own prime time anchor spot on the network.  She was going to be big – very big – and she was not about to let some fat assed camera technician screw over her first step by delaying her live shoot.

She glared at the technician's rear for a minute, trying to bore holes into his pants with her eyes.  No use.  His jeans looked no closer to splitting than usual.  She turned away before they had a chance to slip down further.  

Tamara surveyed the massive cavern around her, turning in a circle as she did so.  Carved stone pillars rose a hundred feet to meet with the natural ceiling.  About a hundred feet behind her, the ground dropped off abruptly into a deep chasm that was at least 200 feet wide.  A narrow finger of rock extended about half way across the abyss almost like a bridge.  Tamara briefly considered walking out onto it, but quickly decided against her.  With her luck, it would break off the rest of the way as soon as she stepped fully onto it.  

The place gave her the creeps, and that was precisely why she was there.  The caverns had been discovered less than two weeks ago, yet they were now utterly deserted.  She was there specifically because of that, because of what the excavationers had reported.  Shrieks that came from deep within the cavern, or cave, or mine, or whatever you wanted to call it.  The sound of hammering, when no one was working on excavation work.  Almost human shapes that they would catch out of the corner of their eyes, but would vanish before they had a chance to see clearly.  The constant prickling sensation on the backs of their necks, like they were being watched by someone, something.  The almost overwhelming sense that they should not be there.

The first day, 17 people had left the excavation team, saying only that  something was in those caverns that didn't need to be disturbed.  By the end of the first week, less than half the crew remained.  Then three of the crewmembers turned up missing.  When a mangled and bloody piece of cloth was found that was identified as one of the missing men's shirts, the remaining crewmembers left as quickly as they could.  The following search crews had found no sign of the missing men.  

Every news station in Britain and the United States had been covering the search operation, but only Tamara Peterson had been willing to actually broadcast from _inside _the caverns.  She was going to be big, and this would be her push to stardom.

"Hey!  We're ready to start filming over here," the camera technician shouted.  Tamara pushed back her urge to make a snide come back and instead positioned herself in front of the camera.  She had just enough time to check her hair before the camera light blinked on and she was broadcast live onto thousands of TV screens world wide.  Time for her big break.

Several thousand miles away, a man watched the news intently from his hotel room in Bangkok.  He stared in shocked recognition at the caverns the attractive news anchor was standing in.

 "Khazad-dum," he murmured.  A word he could never forget.  A place that should never have been found again.

"As you can see," the news anchor started in, "We are broadcasting live from within the caverns where the three men disappeared.  Authorities are still unable to offer any explanation for their disappearances, and as you may imagine, speculation is beginning…"

The anchor's monologue was interrupted by a sharp metallic sound from somewhere off camera.  The sound of hammering.  The anchor frowned, then continued.

"As I was saying, speculation surrounding the cause of their disappearances has grown, with people proposing such possible answers as…"

A hideous cry split the air, starting at a low pitch and rising sharply.  As suddenly as it had began, it stopped.  The man in sitting in the hotel room closed his eyes.  He knew what was coming.  _Drums_.  _Drums in the deep_.  Another cry sounded, and he reopened his eyes.  _We cannot get out_.  The anchor looked scared.  Very scared.  _They are coming_.

"That's it," she said sharply, moving toward the camera.  "We're packing up. Now."  But it was too late.  The camera crew's screams could be heard as millions of TV viewers world wide watched in horror.  Swarms of nightmarish creatures appeared from seemingly nowhere, surrounding the woman where she still stood in front of the camera.  One of the monsters moved forward, grabbed Tamara, pulled her head back, and slowly cut her throat with a black-bladed knife. Her eyes flew open wide, and she made a move as though to cry out, but no sound came.  The beast released her, and she sank slowly to the floor.  

The man in the hotel room shut off his TV.  He had seen enough.  He stood, pulled on his jacket, and opened the door to his room.

"It is beginning," he muttered under his breath as he stepped outside, slamming the door behind him.


	4. Chris

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 4: Chris**

**Disclaimer:**  If they're not Tolkien's characters, then they're mine.  Either that or they're real.  I don't own Tolkien's characters, you don't own mine.  Please give me credit if you want to use my characters.  Chris, Sarah, and Adrienne like to think that they own themselves.  If you want to use them in a story, you'll have to take it up with them.  Also featuring a cameo by the Hideous Orange Blanket.  It's mine.  You cannot have it.  Period.

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_Sherman, Texas, USA.  A midsize town, about sixty miles north of Dallas……_

          Chris forced his feet to keep up with the directional arrows on the game screen.  He was determined to win this time.  After blowing five bucks already on the stupid game, he had better win.  Dance, Dance Revolution was his absolute favorite game in the mall arcade, and he was completely, hopelessly addicted.  He was actually quite good at it, and a pretty large crowd had amassed around the game, watching him as he played.  It was mostly because of the crowd that he found himself in his current situation.  He had decided to impress them by performing the most difficult song in the game, _and _using both playing boards.  He had never made it more than halfway through the song – using only one playing board – before.  

Chris realized just how bad he must look.  He might be getting all the moves right, but he had _no_ style whatsoever, and style was 9/10 of the game.  

"I'm actually going to make it through the whole song!" he thought, with a surge of excitement.  He would have too, had he not overstepped one of the last side steps, and fallen off the playing board with a loud crash, nearly falling on top of someone's five year old who was watching him play.  The crowd erupted in laughter, and everyone in the arcade turned to stare at him.  

          "Hardy, har, har," he muttered in response to the laughter, as he picked himself up off the dirty floor. 

          "Marney!  I've never seen that dance before!  What's it called?" yelled a girl from the food court.  Chris turned around to see who had spoken.  Three girls in their late teens or early twenties sat at a table, looking like they were straight out of a Hot Topic ad, and laughing, presumably at him.  The first girl had red-brown hair that fell neatly to her waist, and was wearing a red shirt that laced up the front and was adorned with a Celtic-knot style design.  The second was wearing a tank top with a picture of a very gothic black winged angel gracing the front.  She had dark, curly hair that fell past her shoulders, and black rimmed glasses.  The third girl had – of all things – silver hair, and the front of shirt was devoted to an image a red-haired woman bending over a fairy ring.  Some old painting or something.  

Chris recognized the three instantly.  Adrienne, Sarah, and Kelly.  "Well, hell," he thought, checking his watch.  He was supposed to have met up with them a quarter of an hour ago.  

Deciding he'd had enough games for one day, he picked up his Spencer's bag from beside the game, and left the arcade to join them.  His crowd of admiring fans had left, anyway.

          "'Sup?" he asked, and sat down at their table.  He stared at Sarah for a moment.  "I like the new hair color," he said.  "Something almost normal for a change."  

Sarah laughed.  "You like it?  I was tired of purple.  You were supposed to meet us here fifteen minutes ago, by the way."  

          Chris shrugged.  "Well, I got a little distracted……." he said, indicating the arcade with a nod of his head.

          "What?  Did you run into Ian McKellen?" asked Adrienne with a laugh.

          "Actually…"  He reached into his Spencer's bag, pulled out a rolled poster, and let it fall open.

          "You SUCK!" all three girls said in unison.  It was a Lord of the Rings poster.  Drawn in black and white, it showed Gandalf with Frodo and Sam standing on a hilltop with dead Orcs piled around them.  Very cool.

          Kelly tossed her gleaming silver hair over her shoulder.  Many people thought she dyed her hair, but it had been silver ever since she was a baby.  Some genetic flaw or something.   Strangely enough, the look worked for her. "They had that poster at Borders," she said.  "Almost got it, but I figured I'd wait and find one like Sarah's."  Chris shook his head, and rolled the poster back up. 

          "Well," Adrienne broke in, "I got something cooler than any of that!"  Sarah nodded in agreement.  Kelly shook her head.  Adrienne smiled.  "I got some SOCKS!"

          Chris just stared at her.  She pulled a bag out from underneath the table, reached in it, and removed the most horrible pair of socks he had ever seen.  They were toe socks.  They were furry.  They were orange.

          "They match the Hideous Orange Blanket!" she exclaimed happily.

          "And this is a good thing?" Chris asked.  

          "Soooooo," Kelly said, rolling her eyes, "That means that we now have not only a Hideous Orange Blanket, but socks, pajama bottoms, and let's not forget a stuffed turtle that all match it."

          "That's right," said Sarah, "Are we Hot Topic-ing this weekend?  I'm in desperate need for some new shirts.  And we could catch Two Towers at the dollar show while we're at it.  I haven't stared at  Hugo Weaving in a while, and I think I'm getting withdrawal."

          Adrienne grinned.  "Agent Smith the cross-dresser?  Come on.  He's old, and he's ugly."

          "Hey, watch it!" she replied, "Elrond is hot.  _And_ he was hot as Agent Smith and Tick/Mitzi.  You want to talk about ugly and old, then talk about Gandalf."

          "_You_ watch it, both of you," Chris said, "that's My Gandy."

          Adrienne laughed.  "Yeah, Chris.  Try telling that to Saruman.  It shimmers, baby, it shimmers!"

          Kelly joined in.  "Yeah," she spoke in a deep voice, "Speak friend, and enter…..Oh, _Saruman_!"

          Chris rolled his eyes.  "That was _my_ joke first, I hope you remember."

          "Well," Kelly said, "I plan on going Hot Topic-ing on Saturday, regardless of what you are doing.  And I never pass up the chance for Two Towers."

          "Well…I guess the only question now is who's car we're going in."  Sarah said.  "Chris, your driving quite frankly frightens me, so all in favor of counting Chris out as a possibility say 'aye'."

"Aye!" replied Adrienne and Kelly simultaneously.  

Chris shook his head.  "Love you too, sweethearts."

"Well," Sarah began again, "The Fine 'Lil Red Car _might _make it all the way to Dallas without being squashed by someone else.  But I really don't want to risk the tin can on wheels in Dallas traffic.  Plus we can only fit one person in the back seat comfortably.  So should we count it out?"  The others nodded in agreement.

 "Well, then," Adrienne, said, eyeing Kelly.  I guess it's between you and me."  

"Paper, scissors, rock?" Kelly asked.  

"Sure," Adrienne said.  "Ready?  One…Two….Three!"  Adrienne had scissors, Kelly paper.

"Well damn," Kelly said.  "I thought you'd do rock.  Ah well.  Your car it is."  She stood, stretching languidly.  "I need a Coke.  Anyone want one?"  Chris, Sarah, and Adrienne shook their heads.  "All right, your loss," she said, and walked off toward Chick-Fil-A.

          Suddenly, she stopped, and brought her hands up to her head, as though she was in pain.  She staggered, falling off-balance.  She put out a hand to catch herself, grabbing hold of the edge of a nearby table.  Kelly sank down into a chair, bringing her hands back up to her forehead.  Chris could see that she was trembling.  All three stared blankly for a moment.  It was Sarah who finally broke the silence.

          "Kelly?"  Sarah called, standing up.  Kelly didn't reply.  Sarah frowned, and jogged over to the table, followed closely by Chris and Adrienne.  Sarah knelt down beside Kelly's chair, looking up at her friend.  Her eyes were open, but unfocused.  

"Kel?  Are you all right?" she asked.  Still no reply.  "Kelly!" she said, reaching up and touching her shoulder.  Kelly looked over at Sarah, still shaking, her breathing heavy, her eyes wide with fright and confusion.  

"Im hir ntúl si, sinome_,_" Kelly said, her words soft and trembling.  She tried to stand, but could not seem to gain her balance.  Sarah and Adrienne quickly caught her before she fell.  Kelly leaned heavily against Sarah for balance.  

"What the hell was that about?" Chris asked.

"I don't know.  Just shut up for a minute," Sarah replied, shortly.  She tried to get Kelly to speak again, but could get no response from their friend.

"Man, we need to get her to a hospital or something," Chris said, getting out of the way as Sarah and Adrienne carefully led Kelly toward the door.  "I mean…look at her eyes.  She's not there."

"Oh no shit, Sherlock!" Sarah snapped.  "Did you have to consult Doctor Watson on that one?"

Kelly looked over at Chris, her gaze seeming to clear, a gleam of recognition visible for a split second.  Then it was gone.

After a moment, she spoke once more, her words halting and unsure.  "When am I?"


	5. Sean

**The Fifth Age**

**Chapter 5: Sean**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Author's Note:** I know, I know.  I took too long getting this chapter posted. ~slaps self on wrist~ Bad girl.  Anywho, here it is, so enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them, not making any money.  Wait…I take that back on this chapter.  I do own Sean.  He's mine.  Use him if you want, just for God's sake ask my permission (I promise I'll say yes).  Use him without my permission and have a curse placed upon your muse.  Oh, and the email addresses in this chapter are flukes.  Not real addresses.  At least, I hope they're not.  ^_~

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_Islamorada, Florida…_

          Sean sat down at his computer and hit the Internet Explorer icon.  The computer whirred for a split-second while the high-speed DSL connection linked him to the World Wide Web.  As soon as his home page popped up, it was clear to him that things were amiss.  He scanned the news headlines with interest.

          "Celtic style ruins discovered in American Southwest…controversy over reporter's purported "murder" continues – bizarre crime or elaborate hoax?…scientists pondering existence of hitherto unknown species as sightings of giant eagles continue world wide," he muttered, reading the headlines.  "I better email Lauren."   

          He opened his email only to find that Lauren had beaten him.  He clicked on her message and read:

To: sean.morella2093@fldkey.com

From: goldengirl1385@newwavearchitecture.org

Subject: (none)

Brother-

Are you blind to the changes that are occurring?  Have you not seen?  Our People are re-awakening and remembering.  I have felt a dark presence growing for some time, and now the Rings stir anew.  Have you not felt it as well? Or has the Sea has caused you to forget your Duty?  We must act quickly, for already I fear we may be too late.  

May Elbereth watch over us all!

Lauren

          "Well that's reassuring," Sean said aloud as he re-read the letter.  He closed his email, shut off the computer, and stood.  Trust Lauren to read death and destruction into every shadow, but he had to admit that she was right.  He had sensed it as well, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the sensation kept growing stronger.  He needed to think.  He walked through his living room, and into the kitchen.  He slid on a pair of sandals which rested beside the back door.  He wondered briefly why he even bothered.  The hardwood floor near the back door was already gritty with sand, from his coming and going on the beach, despite the fact that he never wore his shoes inside the house.  He needed to sweep.  Shrugging the thought off, he walked out the screen door, letting it bang shut behind him.  

His feet seemed to move of their own accord down the familiar path over the sand dune behind his house to his private stretch of beach.  When Sean reached the damp sand, he kicked off his sandals.  It was still early, and the sand was not unbearably hot.  He pulled off his shirt and waded into water.  When he had gone out far enough that the water was just past waist high, he stopped and stood perfectly still for a moment, his eyes closed.  He listened to the waves lapping up on the shore, the gulls crying in the sky.  He breathed deeply, smelled the salt of the ocean, felt the water rising and falling around him.  If the world truly did have a heartbeat, a pulse of life, as some said, then the ocean was the place where it could be felt.  

          He dove beneath the waves, and swam away from the shore.  After long minutes, he surfaced and took a deep breath.  He was feeling better already; the ocean always had that calming effect on him.  It was what had caused him to cling to it, returning again and again even after all these years.  He sank beneath the waters again, and swam further away from the land.

The sun was high overhead by the time Sean finally made his way back to the beach.  Out of habit, he reached down to confirm that he still wore the thin gold ring upon right hand.  He always half expected it to be gone, having slipped off his finger and sunk to some unknown place on the ocean floor.  Wouldn't _that_ make for a wonderful think to explain to Lauren.  He glanced down at the band of gold, the sunlight glittering upon the deep red jewel enmeshed upon it, and briefly considered emailing Lauren and telling her that he _had_ lost it, just out of spite.  But in the end he decided against it.  

He sat on the shore, and stared out at the glittering sea for a long while as the breeze dried the water from his skin.  The salt clung to his hair, weighing it down into his eyes.  Finally, he sighed heavily, stood, retrieved his shirt, and pulled it back on.  He knew what he was going to have to do, but first he needed to go visit a friend.


	6. The Clouds Gather

**The Fifth Age**

**Chapter 6: The Clouds Gather**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Author's Note:** See what happens when I put off updating?  You get a bonus chapter!  Short, yes, but bonus chapter all the same.  Reviews welcome, flames from so-called Tolkien purists with over-inflated egos will be promptly laughed at.  Loosen up, guys.  It's _clearly _stated that this fic is not to be taken too seriously.  Translations for all dialogue is found at the bottom of the story.

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, I don't own either Isaiah or Judah.  Well, under those names maybe…but they're not really my characters.   Take it up with Tolkien.  

____________________

_Approximately 12 miles outside a small Irish village…_  

The horse sped along the forest path, it's rider's long gold hair streaming out behind him.  The sunlight peeking through the treetops made the horse's coat gleam like silver, and intensified the color of the rider's hair.  The man urged the horse on faster, as he expertly guided it through the maze of trees – an act which revealed his mass experience at navigating the trail.  

They emerged into a clearing, and the rider tugged the reins hard, checking the horse to a halt.  The horse tossed its head and whinnied in protest of the abrupt stop to its fun.  The rider paid it no heed, and instead guided it slowly toward the center of the clearing.  

A large, flat stone rested in the precise middle of the clearing.  Upon this stone sat a man, his dark hair resting upon his shoulders.  His eyes were closed, his long eyelashes sitting upon high cheekbones.

"Judah," the rider called, stopping his horse next to the stone.  The man slowly opened his eyes, which were an intense grey blue, and looked up at the one mounted upon the horse.  The rider reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out an envelope.

"_Quetta tul an le_," he said as he handed the envelope to Judah.

"_Man ello_?" Judah muttered to himself, taking the envelope and opening it.  He scanned the pages contained within.  He stopped, set the papers down in this lap and looked at the rider again.  "What does this mean, Isaiah?"

"It means that the clouds are gathering, and very soon they will burst," he replied softly.

__________________

"Quetta tul an le" – Word has come for you

"Man ello?" – from whom?


	7. Back to Texas

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 7: Back to Texas**

**Disclaimer: **Sarah, Chris and Adrienne like to think that they own themselves.  If you want to use them in a story, you'll have to take it up with them. Still not making any money, but I'm up for donations!  ^_~  Oh and a quick note…yes, I know that Tolkien said that we're living in like the seventh age.  But this story was called the Fifth Age from day one, and somehow, 7th doesn't sound right.  Don't worry, my purist friends, I'm sure I will find a half believable way to explain this small discrepancy in the story.  Umm…warnings for this chapter would have to include a biggie for language.  So, if you're underage, just envision this: $@#!% wherever you see bad words.  ^_~ Enjoy!  

_Back to Sherman, Tx._

The four friends decided on Sarah's car, it being the closest, and her driving skills under pressure being the least likely to get them killed on the way to the hospital.  They had Kelly, who was mostly incoherent, lay down in the backseat, Adrienne somehow managed to fold herself up in the backseat as well, and Chris grabbed shotgun.  Not that he had much choice.  At 6'2'', there was no way in hell he was fitting into the backseat of a glorified Geo Metro.  

"You know, if you didn't keep so much crap in the back of your car, we could have folded down this seat and been a little more comfortable," Adrienne snapped as Sarah fell into the drivers seat.  

"Kiss my freaking ass," Sarah replied as she jammed the key into the ignition.  

"Bend over, sweetheart," Adrienne shot back, before Sarah had a chance to start the car.

"Oh get back in your fucking kennels, both of you," Chris said.  Sarah glared, but said nothing as she turned the key so forcefully it was a wonder it didn't snap off in the ignition.  Enigma's MCMXC AD album vibrated through the car speakers when the engine turned over, making the car sound like it was home to both a whore house and a cathedral.  Sarah simultaneously turned the music down and slammed the vehicle into reverse.  

"Call her parents," she said sharply, throwing her cell phone at Chris and swerving out of the parking place.  "Tell them to meet us at Wilson N."

"And tell them what?  That their daughter's gone off the fucking deep end?" he said as he dialed the number.  

"Just fucking do it, okay?" she snapped, now pulling out onto Parkway.  "If we get there without getting pulled over it'll be a miracle," she muttered, shifting the car into fourth gear.  The gears _grunched_ in protest.  "Piece of shit clutch," she muttered, then louder, "How do I get to the hospital from here?"

"Left at the second light before the underpass like you're going to the middle school.  We should've just called an ambulance," Adrienne muttered.

"By the time they would've gotten here, we could have been at the hospital already.  Oh I am _not_ stopping," Sarah said, as she ran a red light.  Someone leaned on their horn.

"I don't know what happened to her, Silvia," Chris was saying, "But we're taking her to Wilson N.  Yeah…we'll meet you there."  He threw the phone into the center console.  "Shit, we're dead," he muttered.

"Just…just shut the hell up," Sarah snapped.  She was pushing 70 on a 30 mph road.  "With my luck that little police officer'll be running radar at the top of the hill today."  

"There's your turn," Adrienne murmured, pointing.

"I _know_," Sarah replied as she turned sharply, throwing Adrienne against her door, and jarring Kelly against her.  "Buckle up back there.  I don't want to get a ticket if you get killed."  She made another sharp turn, this time slamming Chris against his door.  "You too," she said to him.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only about three minutes, they pulled into the emergency entrance at Wilson N. Jones memorial hospital.  

"I'll go get the EMTs," Sarah said getting out of the car, and running into the hospital.

Chris shot Adrienne a look.  "Next time this happens, you're riding up front."


	8. Praying Mantis

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 8: Praying Mantis**

**Disclaimer: **Lookie, lookie, it's a bonus chapter!  Don't own them.  Not making any money.  No animals were harmed in the writing of this fanfic.

__________________

_A Buddhist Monastery in Western Japan_

Low, resonant chanting echoed off the walls of the monastery, filling the valley with sound.  The wind blew the heavy hanging bells softly against each other, resulting in deep, melodious, yet quiet ringing.  The heavy scent of incense wafted through the courtyards.  

The man sat in lotus position beneath a branching red maple, his eyes closed.  Though he was dressed in the traditional orange and red robes of a Buddhist monk, his head was unshaven, and his dark, silken hair fluttered around his face.  Clearly a foreigner, his skin was fair, his features delicate.

The other monks were almost sure he had not been there a moment earlier, and yet there was no way they could prove he had not been.  And so, not wanting to disturb another's meditation, they left him be.  

As he sat with his hands palm up upon his knees, an emerald green praying mantis crept slowly up his leg.  Apparently undisturbed, the man did not move, and his eyes remained shut.  The mantis stepped tentatively upon his fingers, and then continued onto the palm of his hand, where it stopped and waited.  

At that moment, the man opened his eyes – eyes as green as the mantis upon his hand – and took a deep breath.  He looked down at the beautiful insect and smiled.  It was a cruel, cold expression.  Slowly, purposefully, he closed his hand around the sacred animal, crushing it to death.

Wiping his hand upon his robes, he stood and walked toward the monastery gate oblivious to the shocked stares and muttered prayers of the monks.  "It has begun," he whispered triumphantly, passing through the gate, and continuing down the stone-paved path towards the village below.


	9. Kay

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 9: Kay**

**Disclaimer: **Oh my!  Another bonus chapter!  Oh yippee skipee! Kay belongs to me.  Use her if you want, just please ask my permission first.  Anyone else in here belongs to Tolkien.  I'm still not making any money off this monster.

­­­­_____________

_A small coastal town in New Zealand…_

At that exact moment, Kay Benson awoke with a start, rivers of white-hot pain streaming across her back.  She sat up in bed, her head wheeling from the shock of awakening in such agony.  She sat still for a moment, tracing a hand across her back to attempt to determine the source of the pain.  Though already fading, it was still excruciating.   

"Fucking hell.  This can't possibly be good," she muttered.

After a moment, she swung her legs off the edge of the bed, and stood.  She brushed her hair back out of her face as she padded quietly across her hardwood floor towards the bathroom.  Sunlight was already creeping through the shaded window, so she drew back the blinds, letting the light flood the bathroom.  

"Shit," Kay muttered as she reached up and tilted the two mirrors on her medicine cabinet towards each other so she could see her back reflected in them.  It was refreshing to not have to move her hair out of the way in order to see her back.  While her shoulder length black hair was by no means short, it no longer hung down past her hips as it once had.  She pulled off her shirt and stared at her back through the mirror for a minute.  Looked no different that it usually did.  Just to be on the safe side, she fished around in her medicine cabinet and produced a large combined dose of Tylenol and Advil.  _That oughtta handle anything_, she thought, swallowing the pills.  Closing the doors of the cabinet, she leaned forward with a sigh, resting her forehead against the cold glass.  The pain had already dissipated for the most part, and the painkillers would kick in given another 10 minutes or so, taking care of any that cared to linger.  After a moment, she stood back up, regarding her face in the mirror.

"There's no way," she said to her reflection.  "Relax, Kay.  It's just nerve damage or something."  A legitimate and plausible explanation.  _But not the only one_, a tiny voice said in the back of her mind, and even as she stared at herself and spoke confidently, her intensely bright grey-green eyes remained unconvinced.  

Finally, she shook her head, turned and made her way back to her bedroom, retreating to the safety of her covers again.  Pain or no, she had no intent of getting up before nine on a Saturday.  Not after the week from hell she'd had.  Back trouble was all the more reason to lounge around in bed.  No need to tell her anyone just precisely _what_ kind of back trouble.  Nope, no reason at all to tell anyone she'd awoken feeling like someone was holding a blowtorch to her back.  Checking to be sure the ringer was turned off on her phone, she rolled over and curled up against a huge pillow.  Her back could just wait until later.  She had some important sleeping to do.__


	10. At the Sign of the Laughing Marlin

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 10: At the Sign of the Laughing Marlin**

**Disclaimer: **Yes, as a matter of fact, they _are_ mine.  Don't own any of Tolkien's universe, or any of the Elvish Languages, for that matter.  Not making any money, donations accepted with a smile.  ^_^  Oh, and for those of you who are wondering, _yes_ these various stories _are_ part of one central plot line, and it's all going to come together here in a little while.

________________________

_Isla Morada, Florida_

Sean wandered the familiar streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the town's main drag.  Gaggles of sunburned tourists clad in hideously loud and cheaply made tropical print shirts ("Just blending in with the locals," Sean thought in amusement) swarmed through the streets, men mopping their bald heads with handkerchiefs.  Women wearing clothing that would have gotten them arrested for indecent exposure anywhere else in the world attempting to keep their children close at hand.  The children in turn racing from store front to store front, gazing in at tie-dyed tee shirts and hemp jewelry, manufactured specifically for the tourist trade.  Streetside vendors selling the same type of goods and souvenirs peddled their wares, hassling passers-by into buying some trinket or other.

Through all the organized chaos of the small key town, Sean passed inconspicuously.  To the tourists, he was nothing more than another local – albeit a pale local, an unusually clean cut beach bum dressed in flip flops, khaki shorts, and tee shirt.  The locals knew him by sight, if not by name, but were too preoccupied with the weekend rush of tourists to pay him much mind.  If a few women turned their heads to watch him as he passed by, he paid no mind, except perhaps to offer a brief smile.

As he wound his way through side streets, the crowds of tourists grew less.  He was coming to the part of the small town that was not frequented by many mainlanders, being the haven of the Key locals and better informed tourists.  Houses with gingerbread edging dotted the streets, and small restaurants marked the way.  At the end of the avenue, he paused at the entryway of a restaurant overlooking the shore.  An old-fashioned wooden sign board hanging over the door proudly proclaimed "The Laughing Marlin" written in gilded script beneath a carved picture of a rather handsome blue marlin, leaping through the air with its mouth open in silent peals of laughter.  He glanced down at his watch.  1:37.  Good.  The crowd would have thinned out.

A bell tinkled as he opened the door and walked into the restaurant.  

"Oh God in heaven above, help us all!" cried a voice as he sat down at a window-side table.  He looked up and smiled as a rather pretty, twenty-something, red haired waitress came out from behind the bar.  

"Well good afternoon to you too, Julie," Sean said, grinning broadly.

"Yeah it was," she replied, smiling back as she pulled out a chair and sat down next to Sean.  She propped her long sun tanned legs up on another chair, her dark jean shorts contrasting oddly with her skin tones.

"Oh look on the bright side.  You could have an obnoxious, overweight tourist in here who would do nothing but stare at your ass for an hour," Sean replied lazily.

"Yeah," Julie said, pushing her thin, wire-rimmed glasses up.  "But instead I have a ridiculously good looking, slightly mental Elf who's gonna do nothing but stare at my ears for an hour."  She grinned evilly at his bemused expression.  "Score one for the mortal," she said.

Sean laughed as he leaned over and hugged Julie as best he could while seated.  The only mortal who knew who – and what – he was.  The first person to befriend him when he moved to Islamorada six years ago.  The only person who had seen past the façade he seemed to hide behind.  And when she had asked him what he was, he told her, and she did not question or doubt. She returned the hug and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"The day's still young, Julie.  I'll catch up yet," Sean said as he released her from his arms.

"Suuuure you will," she replied, standing up once more.  "So…what can I do for you today?"

"Depends on what's on the menu…" he replied.

"Oh…where are my manners?  The special today is jumbo butterflied shrimp, marinated in our signature lemon pepper sauce, and grilled over an open fire.  That's served with seasoned fries, and soup or an exotic mixed greens salad," she recited.  "A true bargain at only $7.99."

"Sounds good," Sean replied.  "Hook me up.  Have you eaten yet?  Get yourself something and join me if you haven't"

"All right, I will," Julie said over her shoulder, as she walked behind the bar and up to the order window.  "I need two specials," she called.

"Coming up," came the reply.  "Is that my Sean I hear out there?"

"Yes, Magdalena," Sean called from his table.  "How are you today?"

A woman in her early fifties looked out at him from the order window, brushing a wayward strand of graying hair behind an ear.  "Simply lovely, dear.  And you?  We don't see you nearly enough anymore."

"I'm great," he replied.

"Well that's wonderful.  Always good to be doing well."  With that, Magdalena vanished back into the recesses of the kitchen to work on the food.

"You want soup or salad, Sean?" Julie asked, digging around in the mini-fridge under the bar.

"What's the soup?"

Julie straightened up, and cleared her throat.  "Today's soup is a chilled raspberry puree, topped with fresh mint and garnished with whole, red, ripe raspberries," she recited in a delightfully dry British monotone.  

"Is it good?" he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

Julie dropped her formal pretense, looking at him in mock-disbelief.  "Is it good?  Honey, this stuff is better than sex," she said.

"Said the virgin," Sean added with a short laugh.  "Score one for the Elf."

"Oh that was low, Sean," Julie said, shaking her head.  "I should like, lick your plate before putting your food on it or something for that one.  Now.  Do you want soup or salad?"

"You know what?  Give me both, and let's call the soup desert," he said.

Julie shrugged.  "Sounds good to me," she replied, reaching into the mini-fridge again and pulling out two bowls of assorted salad greens and two bowls of the soup.  She added tomatoes, mushrooms, croutons, and dressing to the salads, and sprinkled mint onto the top of the soup.  Balancing the four dishes precariously on her arms, she brought them to the table and set them down.

"What do you wanna drink?" she asked, turning back to the bar.

"Whatever you're having's fine," Sean said, stirring his raspberry soup cautiously.  

"All right," she said, reaching into another refrigerator and emerging with a couple bottles of Guinness.  "Want a glass?"

"Nah," Sean replied.  Julie popped the caps off the bottles and headed back to the table.  She slid one bottle across the table to Sean, then took a deep swig of her beer before setting it down and falling into her chair.

"Sorry, but you did totally set yourself up for that last one," Sean said, taking a tentative spoonful of the soup.  His eyebrows shot up in surprise.  "Mm.  This _is_ good," he said, gesturing to the bowl with his spoon.

"Of course it is.  I told you it was.  And don't worry about apologizing," she added with an evil grin.  "Considering that little fact about me could be considered your fault."  She winked and blew a kiss across the table.  Sean shook his head, laughing quietly.  

"Seriously, though," Julie began, setting her spoon down, "What's going on out at sea?  The fishermen all say that the fish are acting weird.  They're having like, these huge schools of fish swarming up around the boats out of the middle of nowhere.  Or they'll be floating along normally well-populated areas, and there will be absolutely nothing there.  I mean nothing.  No fish, no sharks, nothing!  It's been hell for the all the fishing tour groups the past couple days.  Old Jeremiah McKinley is talking about closing down until the fish start acting right."

"Well it's not like he can't afford to," Sean said.  "Not like some of these other guys who actually rely on that income to survive."

"Don't I know it," Julie said, shaking her head.  "But he's a good guy.  Friendly.  Leaves good tips.  Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, as though remembering something important.  "Did you hear about the dolphins?"

Sean shook his head.  "No, what?"

"Whole pod of them beached themselves up on the mainland.  There must've been about 20 of them.  Of course, Animal Control and Green Peace and ASPCA and all of them pushed them back to sea, and wouldn't you know, the damned things turned right around and beached themselves again.  Happened three times.  They had to have someone come put them down.  Man, Green Peace was pissed.  But what else could they do?  The poor things didn't want to be saved," she paused, taking a drink.  "I don't know," she began again, "but it seems like the fish and dolphins and what not are acting like something's going on out there.  Something big must be going on if even the ocean is troubled."

"Yeah," Sean replied, taking a bite of his salad.  It was unusually good, he noted.  Julie frowned.

"All right, keep your secrets.  I can see that you're not going to tell me.  Lemme guess, 'I'm happier not knowing'?"

"Most likely, yes," Sean said.

"Order up!" Magdalena suddenly yelled from the kitchen.  

"Be right back," Julie said, pushing herself up out of her chair.  She retrieved the plates, then, realizing that aside from the salad and soup utensils she hadn't gotten silverware yet, grabbed a couple sets and a handful of napkins.  

Sean took the silverware and napkins from her, and she set the plates down on the table.  Julie sat down, and traced a haphazard cross in the air over the table.

"Bless the food oh Lord.  Amen," she said quickly.  Sean snickered and broke a smile.  It was a most endearing habit of the Edain, he thought.  He picked up one of the shrimp from his plate and bit into it.  Very tasty, he decided.  An uncomfortable silence seemed to descend upon them as they ate.  Sean realized after a moment that Julie was regarding him pensively.

"What?" he asked.

"You're going away, aren't you?  That's why you came today," she said finally, putting her fork down.  Sean frowned.

"It always amazed me how perceptive you are," he said sincerely.

"Mortal, yes.  Idiot, no," Julie replied.  "This has to do with whatever's affecting the ocean, doesn't it?  And Lauren, too, I'll bet."

Sean nodded.  "Yes on both counts."

"And you're not gonna tell me any more than that?"

"I can't."  Sean felt a pang of guilt at the hurt in Julie's eyes.  She arched a suspicious eyebrow.  

"Can't?  Or won't," she asked.

Sean shook his head.  "Won't.  Not now.  Not just yet."

"I understand," Julie replied softly, looking down at the table.  She cast a sideways glance at him.  "When are you leaving?"

"Plane leaves tomorrow night.  I've got to be on the mainland by late afternoon."

Julie suddenly laughed, shaking her head as she looked up with a wry smile. "You son of a bitch, you want me to housesit for you, don't ya?" she said.  Sean broke a smile.

"Aye, you've figured me out.  Do you mind?"

"No.  Of course not.  Just as long as you'll be back sometime in my lifetime," she replied.

"All right," Sean said, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his.  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it before resting it against his chest, over his heart.  "_Mellon nin_3_,_" he murmured, closing his eyes.

They finished the rest of their lunch in good spirits, Sean thought.  Julie did not seem overly perturbed by the thought of his sudden need to leave.  But then again, it was not the first time.  She even managed to talk him into having a second desert.  Chocolate cheesecake.  If he had to give the Edain credit for anything, it was for the creation of cheesecake.  They talked for a long while after finishing the food, until one of the other waitresses and the first of the late-afternoon customers began to drift in.  Locals, mostly, who knew Sean well.

"Promise me that you're not gonna disappear without telling me goodbye," Julie said as she rang up the tab.  Sean handed her the money.  

"I don't need change," he said.  Julie stepped out from behind the cash register, blocking his way.

"Sean, promise me," she said, "Please."

"I promise, Julie," he replied, as he swept her into an embrace.  He kissed her gently.  "I promise," he repeated.  

"_Tye-meláne_, Sean," she whispered, laying her head against his shoulder.  "_Tye-meláne_."

*_Tye-meláne = _I love you


	11. Sidhe

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 11: Sidhé**

**Disclaimer: **Tolkien owns these two.  No matter how much I'd like to have them for my own personal play toys.  Still no money in sight.

___________________________

_A Small Village in Northern Ireland_

         "Isaiah, I'm gettin' married!" a young woman cried as the tall golden-haired man entered the pub.  He broke into a smile as the woman – practically just a girl – ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.  He embraced her and twirled her around once.

         "Aye, lass, so I heard!  I'm so happy for you!" he replied, setting her back on her feet.  The woman blushed slightly, pushing her ruddy curls back out of her face.

         "Will ye dance with me?" she asked, taking his hand.  Isaiah cast a short look at Judah, who was standing behind him, and then back at the girl.

         "Well, I suppose one couldn't hurt…"

         The girl laughed, then pulled him gently onto the dance floor, just as the fiddler began the next reel.  Judah smiled as he watched his old friend fall into the movements of the dance.  The golden-haired one stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb amongst the sea of flame haired people.  And yet, he was an integral part of the landscape.

         Judah shook his head in slight amazement as he sat down at a scrubbed wooden table, half obscured in shadow.  Such a joyous, free people, he thought.  It was little wonder that Isaiah had chosen to cling to his beloved Celts.  The reel finished, and Isaiah, laughing, pulled away from his young dance partner.  He wove his way though the crowd, toward Judah's table.  His progress was hindered every few steps, however, by someone stepping in front of him to speak.  He was known by everyone in this small village.  From the oldest grandmother to the youngest child.  Isaiah the ageless one.  The Sidhé.  

         Isaiah sat down in the chair opposite Judah, propping his elbows up on the table.  Judah's expression remained grim and contemplative.  

         "How has it come to this, Glorfindel?" Judah asked softly, his eyes fixed on some distant point.  Isaiah sighed softly at the use of his rightful name.

         "I do not know," Glorfindel replied truthfully.  Judah frowned as he twisted the ring he wore on his left hand.  It was a pretty thing, a brilliant sapphire mounted in molten swirls of gold.  He looked up at his old friend with a dark expression.

         "I want no part of this," Judah said suddenly, "I will not do this.  What must be will be."  Glorfindel sighed heavily as he reached into his coat pocket.

         "Lauren told me that is what you would say," he replied, pulling a sealed envelope out of his pocket.  He slid it across the table.  

         "I would like to know just exactly who made Lauren ruler over all," Judah muttered as he tore open the envelope.  His eyes betrayed his puzzlement as he pulled out a small stack of photographs.  He thumbed through them once.  His expression turned from curiosity to confusion to shock and recognition to pure anger.  "Oh, may Eru condemn her to the Eternal Void!" he spat, throwing the pictures on the table.  He looked up at Glorfindel, anger still burning in his stormy eyes.

         "You lied to me," he said in a deathly whisper.  "You, Atar, Erestor, Galadriel, Celeborn…you all lied.  You lied to us all.  You told us that she sailed to the West.  But she did not."

         Glorfindel's expression remained patient and gentle.  "Your mother never even made it to the Havens, Elladan," he replied softly, not shrinking from the younger one's gaze.  "You and your brother did not know the half of what she suffered at the hands of her captors.  Her very _fëa_ had been violated, and not even your father's skilled hands could heal that.  Even when he had healed her body, she was still dying, wasting away, longing for release from life.  We were but a week's journey from the havens, when your mother laid down to rest one evening, and did not arise again."

         Elladan fingered one of the photographs thoughtfully.  "Why did you not tell us the truth?  Why such effort to keep us from knowing?  For even the books of lore have it written that she departed over the sea."

         "History is what those who write of it have made it to be.  Do you know how many full lies and half-truths were written as though true, simply to please those who wrote them?  Or how many more were written as such to protect others from harm?  We all saw your desire for vengeance against your mother's tormentors!  If you had known the truth…known the extent of what had been done to her…you would have pursued them to your deaths!  And when would you have stopped?  When you had called the everlasting darkness upon you, should you not pursue every evil being to the ends of the earth?  Nay, Elladan, I at least had seen what such passions could cause.  None of us had any desire to inflict _that_ upon your souls."

         The younger one's gaze faltered for a split second before he lowered his eyes to the table.  "You are right," he replied softly.  "But I still feel that you wronged us by not telling us the truth.  We could not even grieve our own mother's passing."  He stared at the photograph clutched in his hand.  "But why this?" he asked.  "What does this mean?"  

         Elladan set the picture down, then carefully looked through the stack again.  He paused on the third picture.  "This girl here," he said, tapping the picture with his finger.  "She is one of Lúthien's.  She has to be."

         Glorfindel nodded.  "Yes.  One of the truest descendants remaining.  Through both sides of her family."

         "Elbereth Gilthoniel," Elladan murmured, "I swear that I can see my sister in her."

         "Aye, she is a striking throwback."

         Elladan stared at the photograph, though his eyes were fixed upon some other distant point, visible only to him.  "If history is what those who write it make it to be, I wonder what they shall make of this?" he murmured.  

He looked up at Glorfindel, and the two regarded each other for a long moment.  Finally, Elladan broke the silence.  "Where do I need to go?"


	12. Emergency Room Eavesdropping

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 12: Emergency Room Eavesdropping**

**Disclaimer:**  Well, don't own these folks, because they own themselves.  So there.  Not making any money.  Happy?

_________________________

_Wilson N_._ Jones Memorial Hospital, Sherman, Tx_.

         Adrienne's eyes followed Sarah's progress as she paced to the window, past the long row of chairs, to the door, and back.  Occasionally her friend would stop and sigh heavily, tapping her hand against her leg before resuming her progress. Obviously, Sarah was extremely agitated.  

         "Will you please _stop_ for crying out loud?!? Jeeeez," Adrienne said as Sarah began her sixth route around the room.  Sarah paused and leaned against a wall, crossing her arms over her chest.

         "I hate hospitals," she said.  "Hate them.  They're too cold and sterile.  Bad energy.  Nothing but death, pain, and sickness."

         "Dude," Chris suddenly interrupted, looking up from a two month old copy of Sports Illustrated.  "Calm down."  However, neither girl could help but notice the way his hands trembled as he held the magazine.

         Sarah sighed heavily, and finally sank down into a chair.  She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands.  "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you guys in the car," she muttered.

         " 'S all right" Adrienne replied.  "Totally appropriate."

         "Gods, are they freaking _done_ yet?" Sarah asked, standing again and looking through the window at the emergency check in counter.  Silvia and Dominic Soubirous were still standing there, filling out paperwork on their daughter.  They had arrived just a few minutes after Sarah, Chris, and Adrienne pulled into the emergency room entrance.  Really amazing, considering that they lived about twelve miles away from the hospital.  

As though on cue, Silvia passed the clipboard she had been writing on to the nurse behind desk.  The nurse nodded, and pointed across her desk at the waiting room.  

An uneasy silence descended over the three as their friend's parents entered the waiting room.  Silvia and Dominic sat down together, directly across the room from the three young people.  Chris suddenly seemed to find an article in his _Sports Illustrated_ extremely interesting, and Adrienne had apparently found an equally interesting spot on the wall.  Only Sarah managed to make eye contact with Mr. and Mrs. Soubirous, but then again, she had known them longer than Chris and Adrienne had.  

"All right, people," Silvia said suddenly.  Chris and Adrienne flinched and looked up, albeit reluctantly.  "Tell me what happened.  One at a time."

At this, they launched into a recount of Kelly's behavior at the mall, with Sarah telling the majority of the story, with Chris and Adrienne occasionally interrupting to provide some small detail or other.  When they finished, Dominic nodded slowly.

"Okay," he said, sitting up straight, "That's exactly what happened?  You're not leaving anything out?"  He regarded each of them slowly.  He had the same intense, piercing gaze that Kelly did.  It was quite unnerving.

"Well," Sarah began, "After she zoned or whatever you want to call it, she was trying to talk to us…but she wasn't making any sense."

"What do you mean?" Dominic cut in.  "Was she incoherent?"

"No…it sounded like she was speaking another language.  And it didn't sound like the kind of stuff someone who was incoherent would come up with.  I don't know how to describe it…but there was some depth there or something.  It sounded like an actual language."

"What did she say?" Silvia asked.

"I can't remember," Sarah admitted.  "Im hir ntúl si something.  Something like that."

Silvia nodded slowly, and Dominic made a move as though to say something more, but was interrupted by the waiting room door swinging open.  A middle aged doctor with slightly graying hair stepped into the room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Soubirous?" he asked.  Dominic and Silvia nodded as they stood and shook his hand.  "I'm Dr. Keen.  Please, sit down.  I have some questions I need to ask."  He waited for them to be seated again, then pulled up a chair and sat directly in front of them, presenting his back to Sarah, Adrienne, and Chris.  All three felt mildly insulted.

"What happened to my daughter?" Dominic asked, his eyes deeply troubled.

"That's why I need to ask you some questions," the doctor replied.  "We're not exactly sure what is wrong with your daughter.  Now before you say anything, she has been stabilized, and is apparently improving.  But we're not sure what caused her…condition."

"All right," Dominic replied, though his expression remained grim.

"Have you ever known your daughter to use mind altering drugs of any kind?  Did she use illegal drugs or have access to any psycho-somatic medications she could have abused?"  The way the doctor said it was more of an accusation than a question.

"What?!  No!" Sarah and Chris exclaimed suddenly.

"Kelly would never have done that!" Adrienne burst in.  The doctor turned round to face them with a rather bemused expression.

"These are Kelly's three friends who were with her," Silvia explained.  "Sarah, Chris, and Adrienne."  The doctor nodded.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room.  Matters of confidentiality."

"I don't have a problem with them being here," Silvia said.

"Be that as it may, Mrs. Soubirous," the doctor cut in, "It's hospital regulations.  They'll have to leave the room."

Dominic nodded at the three.  "Give us a few minutes."

         All three muttered different affirmations, and skulked out into the hallway.  

"Does your daughter have a history of psychological disorders?" they heard the doctor ask just before Adrienne pushed the door to, leaving it open just a crack.  They leaned against the counter of the nurse's station, and stared at Kelly's parents and the doctor through the window.

         "Can you hear what they're saying?" Chris asked after a second.

         "Not if you keep talking," Adrienne shot back.  But despite Adrienne's aggravation, it was pointless.  They couldn't hear a word of what was being said.  After an agonizing fifteen minutes, Kelly's parents stood and shook hands with the doctor, who held the waiting room door open for them.  Dominic looked worried, but Silvia smiled, and wrapped her arms around Adrienne, Chris, and Sarah.

         "Don't worry, guys.  The doctor says he thinks she's going to be fine.  They just want to keep her tonight and tomorrow for observations," she said.  "She'll probably be home tomorrow evening."

         "What's wrong with her?" Sarah asked.

         "They're still not sure," Dominic said, frowning heavily.  "He said that when she came in here, they thought she was in shock…possible drug overdose or something.  But now he says that she looks almost like she's suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome or something."

         Silvia tightened her grip on their shoulders.  "She'll be just fine.  We're going to go see her now.  But you guys go on home.  Get some rest.  As soon as we know anything, we'll give you a call.  Promise."

The sun was warm on their faces as they stepped outside into the parking lot, and the Texas heat rose in waves from the black asphalt.  The mood was somber as the three friends piled once more into Sarah's car.  They drove to the mall in silence, and Sarah dropped them off at their respective cars.  Then they all went home.  

None of them slept well that night.  Chris lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, Sarah tossed and turned, her dreams dark and dangerous, and Adrienne finally gave up on sleep and stayed online talking to her boyfriend, Sebastian, seeing if he could make sense of the weird events of the day.  

If any of them had thought to go outside, they would have seen the evening star shining unusually bright, as meteors shot from horizon to horizon in one of the biggest and most unexpected showers in a decade.


	13. Time To Pack

**The Fifth Age**

**By Glorfindel's Girl**

**Chapter 13: Time to Pack**

**Disclaimer: **I actually do own them.  But they're not making me any money.  Oh my.  Are you ready for this?  Presenting……The Longest Chapter Yet!  Enjoy it!

_______________________

_Isla Morada, Florida_

         Sean stared thoughtfully at the mostly empty suitcase perched on his bed, reviewing the contents.  Socks.  Boxer shorts.  Favorite picture of he and Julie.  Somehow, he didn't think he could get away with just wearing socks and underwear.  His stereo was turned up louder than necessary, and Connie Dover's mournful, sultry vocals drifted through the room.  He didn't usually like her music – brought back too many memories – but it seemed right tonight somehow, and he found himself singing along in Gaelic.  His bedroom windows were open wide, and the late afternoon sunlight bathed the room in golden light.

Deciding that his suitcase wouldn't magically pack itself if he kept staring at it, he frowned, then turned and opened his closet door, and burrowed around through the hanging clothes for a few minutes.  Unable to find the shirt he was searching for, he groped blindly above his head for the light cord.  It brushed against his hand three times before he was able to get a good grip on it and pull.  The light bulb flickered on, but the cord snapped and broke off in his hand.

         "Ah, by Eru," he swore, standing up straight and stretching up to tie the broken end of the cord back on, only to find that it had broken off too near the bulb and he couldn't reach it.  Muttering a few choice words in Sindarian, he went off towards the kitchen in search of a chair.  He was still grumbling with the broken cord wrapped around his hand when he rounded the corner into his kitchen and ran smack into Julie.  She gave a short yelp and dropped the backpack slung over her arm as she jumped back.  Her reaction startled Sean, and he jumped too.

         "Shit, don't _do_ that to me, Sean!" she said, tucking a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear.  She was wearing the same pair of shorts she had worn to work, but had changed from her uniform shirt to a purple tank top.  Sean frowned.

         "What are _you_ doing here, Jules?" he asked, walking past her and picking up one of the wooden chairs from the table.

         "Got off work early and thought I'd come help you pack.  I knocked at the front door but you didn't answer and it was locked, so I let myself in the back," she explained, following him back into the bedroom.  "You broke the light cord again?"

         "Yeah," he replied, setting the chair down in the closet.  "I didn't hear you knock," he continued, looking back over his shoulder.

         "Here, here, let me do that," Julie said dropping her over stuffed back pack, as she walked over to Sean and took the broken light cord from him.  She pushed him aside and climbed up on the chair.  "Just turn the radio down.  Or put something else on.  Connie's too depressing."

         Sean obediently stood out of the way, watching as Julie had to perch on her tip-toes to re-tie the light cord, even with the chair she was standing on.

         "There," she said, jumping down off the chair.  "Ta dah!"

         "Thanks, Julie," Sean said, as Julie carried the chair back to the kitchen.  He then turned back to the matter of packing. Shirts.  He needed shirts.  He returned to digging through the closet, tossing an occasional shirt or pair of shorts over his shoulder onto the bed.  His Connie Dover CD suddenly stopped playing and was replaced by the sound of some local rock station.  He heard Julie walk back into the room.  Taking one final shirt out of the closet, he turned the closet light off, being careful not to pull the cord too hard again.        

         Julie was kneeling in the middle of his bed, folding the pile of clothes that had accumulated over the past few minutes, and shoving them into the suitcase.  She grinned at Sean as he sat down next to her.

         "Y'know, if you folded as you went along, you might get done sooner," she said, throwing a shirt into the suitcase.  Sean shook his head, causing several strands of sandy blonde hair to fall in his eyes.

         "I hate packing," he replied, setting a folded pair of short in the suitcase.  Julie laughed softly, looking over at him.

         "You just say that so I'll show up and help you," she said.  Sean didn't reply, except for a quick shake of his head.  She stared at him for a few minutes as he finished shoving the rest of his clothes in the bag.  "All right, Elf boy," she said finally.  "I come over here to cheer you up, and get nothing but three word sentences from the time I walk in the door.  I'm depressed enough as it is without adding your misery to it.  You've got to go and that's it.  No use bemoaning the point.  Now chipper up, or I'm gonna leave and be miserable by myself."

         Sean sighed heavily, throwing the shirt he was holding aside as he looked up at Julie.  His eyes were red, glittering with unshed tears, and he stared at her for a long moment.  "You wanna go swim?" he asked finally, smiling weakly, his voice betraying how dangerously close to crying he was.  Julie smiled as she leaned across the bed and hugged him tightly, planting a kiss on his forehead.

         "Sure," she replied, pulling away.  She stared at him, a mischievous glint in her dark green eyes.  "Race you there!" she said suddenly, and took off.  Sean hesitated a split second before he laughed and followed close on her heels.  Julie jumped the sofa, and ran through the kitchen, her bare feet slipping on the sandy hardwood floor.  She lost her traction and fell, landing on her hip with a _thud_.  She laughed, jumping back up to her feet, playfully shoving Sean out of her way.

         A few seconds later, they burst out the back door, chasing each other down the sand dune towards the beach like two children.  They shed their shirts as they ran, which fluttered through the air like strange wingless birds, before coming down to rest on the damp sand.  They raced towards the old wooden pier behind the house, chasing the wind, leaving their cares somewhere back beside their clothes.

Sean grabbed Julie's hand, pulling her down the wooden pier.  They ran together as one, their hair – red and sandy blonde – streaming behind them in a single entity, leaving their backs exposed, his bare and pale, hers sun-darkened and crossed by the ties of her teal-blue bikini.  Together they leapt off the end of the pier, and for a split second they were flying, hovering wingless above the earth before splashing down into the green-blue waters below.  They surfaced laughing, breathing heavily, and shivering slightly from the shock of the cool water.

         "That was liberating," Julie said as she laid back in the water, relaxing completely and allowing it to support her weight.  

"Aye, that it was," Sean replied.  "I needed that," he continued, leaning back in the water as well.  Julie grinned up at the sky.

"I know you did.  But right now, I need to get out of these shorts," she said with a laugh, trying to peel the wet denim from her legs, while keeping from sinking.  She finally managed to wriggle out of them, and tossed them onto the pier.  The shorts landed with a wet _smack_.  Julie stared up at the pier for a moment longer.  

"Ah screw it," she said suddenly, "It's coming off eventually too, might as well be now."  With that, she turned her back, untied her bikini top and threw it up onto the pier too.  "Now I can swim," she said, falling back into the water and doing a lazy backstroke away from the pier.  It didn't faze Sean.  He'd seen her like that a thousand times before.

Sean watched her glide through the water for a few seconds before diving under the waves and swimming after her.  They played together in the deep waters like children in a shallow pool, swimming out and letting the waves push them back towards shore, chasing schools of colorful fish that swam past.  By the time they finally tumbled onto the beach to retrieve their clothes, the sun was laying low on the horizon, sending deep red-orange streaks of light through the sky.  They were exhausted, their muscles threatening soreness, but they were happy.

Sean watched as Julie fetched her clothes from the pier, the sun glittering upon her damp skin, as though she had been swimming through a sea of jewels.  After putting her shorts and top back on, she joined Sean beside the surf, and they sat letting the cool breeze dry the water from their skin, as the sun sank below the horizon and the tide came rushing in.

They spoke no words, but none needed to be spoken.  They sat in comfortable silence, Julie leaning slightly against Sean, resting her head on his shoulder.  The sun suddenly disappeared from sight below the horizon, the shades of twilight quickly moving in to replace its light.

"We need to make it out to Key West again one of these days and see the sun set out there," Julie said, her words soft, almost a whisper.

"Yeah," Sean replied, putting an arm around her shoulders.  "We do.  That's always fun.  For the tourists if nothing else."

"Do you really have to leave?" Julie asked suddenly.  Sean was somewhat surprised to her the tremble in her voice.

"Yes, _melisse_, I do," he said.

"I don't want you to go, Sean.  I don't.  I've just…I've got a really bad feeling about this, and I don't know why," she said, losing what little control she had, and breaking into tears.  Sean wrapped her in his arms, holding her to him and rocking her like a child.

"Shhh, Jules, I know.  I know.  I don't want to leave either, but I have to.  Please don't cry.  Please."

Julie drew a deep, shuddering breath, stifling her tears.  Sean gave her a quick hug.  "C'mon.  Let's get back to the house.  We're gonna get cold out here."

He stood, drawing her up with him, and together they walked back to the house.

Julie's voice drifted out of the shower, carrying clear into the kitchen, where Sean stood at the counter dicing tomatoes.  He smiled as he heard her singing, glad that she seemed to be feeling better.  Putting the diced tomatoes on a plate, he moved to the refrigerator and pulled out half of a head of lettuce.  On his way back to the counter, he checked the frying pan on the stove, pausing to stir the sizzling conglomeration of spiced rice, strips of bell pepper, and onion.  Setting the lettuce on the counter, he chopped it neatly into quarters, which he then sliced into long strips.  

He heard the water turn off in the shower as he removed the frying pan from the stove and raked the contents onto another plate.  He then opened the oven, carefully removing the foil-wrapped packages of pita bread he'd been heating.  He'd only discovered he was out of tortillas _after_ starting on the rest of the fajitas.  Ah well.  Pita bread was close enough.  Almost on an afterthought, he took a bowl of black beans out of the refrigerator, and some avocado slices left over from his lunch the day before.  He made up their plates, piling lettuce, tomatoes, black beans, and avocado on them beside the foil-wrapped pita bread.  The onion, bell pepper, and rice mixture he put on the stove to keep warm. 

"Hey, Sean?" he heard Julie yell from the bathroom.

"Yeah?" he replied, propping open the screen door so some of the heat from the stove would filter out of the kitchen.

"Will you look in my bag and bring me the vitamin E stuff?" she called back.

"Sure," he yelled, taking her bag from a chair in the living room where she had dropped it after getting back from swimming.  He dug around in the front zipper pocket for a minute before finding the bottle of vitamin E oil.  

Julie had the door to the bathroom open, and clouds of steam were still floating out into the bedroom.  She was standing in front of the mirror with a brightly colored beach towel wrapped around her body, running some kind of leave in conditioner through her hair.  Sean tossed the bottle to her.

"Thanks m'dear," Julie said, catching the bottle.  She unscrewed the top, set the bottle on the counter, and pulled the top of her towel down, exposing the large, fading scar across the side of her right breast.  "Can you believe it's been three years already?" she asked, rubbing some of the oil onto the scar.  "It seems like yesterday."

"Elbereth Gilthoniel, don't I know it," Sean replied, shaking his head and sitting down on the edge of the bed.  That had been one of the worst scares he'd ever had.  He remembered all too clearly the day Julie had come over with that panicked look in her eyes, and grabbed his hand, laying it on the side of her breast.  

"Do you feel that?" she had asked, her tone toying with hysteria.  "Sean, do you feel it?"  And he had.  He had felt the hard mass below the surface of her skin, just as she had earlier that day.  Sean remembered the subsequent doctor visit, and his orders for emergency surgery.  He remembered the surgeon's words all too clearly.

"It looks like it may be cancer."

But in the end, it wasn't.  Julie was down and out for about two months after the surgery, too sore to do much of anything.  Of course, she had made a full recovery, and in three years had not had any other problems.  The whole experience had made her grow more mature, and left her with a really lovely scar which she'd spent the better part of the past three years trying to fade. 

"Whatever you're cooking in there smells wonderful," Julie said, suddenly bringing Sean back to reality.

"Yeah," he replied lazily, standing up and stretching.  "It was supposed to be fajitas, but naturally I get half way through grilling the stuff and realize that I don't have tortillas.  So I guess that means we're having pita fajitas."

"Hey, it's all good," Julie replied with a laugh.  

"Yeah, I suppose so," Sean said.  "I'll go finish up in the kitchen and let you finish getting dressed."

"All right, be there in a minute," Julie said to his retreating back.  

There really wasn't much else to do in the kitchen, so Sean sat down at the table and waited for Julie to get done.  After a minute or two, he decided to get the rice mixture off the stove and onto the table.  He hoped it wouldn't get cold before Julie was finished.  But he didn't need to worry.  Before too long, she came padding through the door, wearing an old tee shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that Sean recognized as the pair he had long ago given up for lost.  

"So _that's _where those got to," he said, gesturing to the pants.  Julie just grinned.

"They're my favorite pair," she said, sitting down in the chair next to Sean's.  "They got thrown in my pile of clothes when I was over here one time, and I accidentally put them in my bag," she explained.  "Just never got around to giving them back."

"Eh, just keep them," Sean replied with a smile.

"Talked me into it.  You ready to eat?"

"Go ahead," he said, laughing. "I didn't fix our plates just so we could stare at them all evening."  And with that, they began their meal.

They had a very pleasant time, overall.  They talked and laughed about things they had done together in the past, and things they might do in the future.  Somehow, the topic of Sean's sudden departure was not brought up.   After they finished off all the fajitas, Sean rummaged around in the freezer and managed to produce a half-gallon container of Oreo ice cream, which had maybe a pint and a half of ice cream left in it.  They grabbed spoons and ate it straight out of the carton.  It was late by the time they finished drying the last of the dishes, and they both got ready for bed.

Sean turned back the sheets on the bed while Julie was brushing her teeth, and was already in bed when she finally came out of the bathroom, wearing only her old tee shirt.  Julie flicked the light off, and crawled into bed next to him, snuggling against his body.  After a few minutes, she finally settled in, resting her head on his chest, with one of her legs thrown over his.  She could feel a tension to Sean's body as they lay there in silence.  It was Julie who finally spoke first, her voice magnified in the quiet room.

"Sean, please, please tell me.  What is going on?  God, the anxiety…the fear is just radiating off of you.  And the waters…I mean, my God, Sean, the earth itself is trembling in anticipation.  Is this the Apocalypse that we're looking at here?" Her last words would have been amusing, if not for the serious tone of her voice.

"No," Sean replied finally.  "If it were that, then we would need not fear, for you know that come what may, it would end well.  That evil would be conquered once and for all.  But this…" He broke off, sighing heavily.  "Something is happening, Julie.  Something truly horrible is just below the horizon, and when it makes itself known, it's going to be hell. And I don't know how, or why, but I do know that we've got to do whatever we can to stop this.  Because Eru only knows what we'll have to endure before overcoming this."

Julie sighed, and tightened her arms around his chest.  "I don't want to lose you, Sean.  For all my teasing, you are like a piece of my soul.  I love you.  And I don't want anything to happen to you."

Sean kissed her once on the top of her head, like a parent comforting their child.  "I love you too, Jules.  Now sleep.  We'll talk again in the morning."

Julie nodded against his chest, and said no more.  Eventually, she did fall the deep dreamless sleep of those drained emotionally and spiritually.  But Sean did not sleep.  He lay awake, praying that come what may, he could find the courage to fight it.  He had promised Julie he'd come back to her.  And he had no intention of breaking that promise. 


End file.
